


if I wear a mask, I can fool the world (but I cannot fool my heart)

by IneffableDoll



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Costume Parties & Masquerades, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Masquerade Ball, Meet-Cute, No Period-Typical Homophobia, Roleplay, Second Kiss, Slow Dancing, a pretend meet cute, because Crowley is soppy as heck and so am I, but not really, more of a “what if we were humans” sorta deal, not sexually just to clarify, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27475501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableDoll/pseuds/IneffableDoll
Summary: Crowley bowed with a flourish, though he wasn’t sure if that was the local custom. It felt right. “Good evening, stranger.”Aziraphale tilted his head. “Crowley, what are you on about? You know exactly who I am.”The demon grinned. “I have no idea what you mean. This is obviously the first time we’ve met.”--*~*--At a masquerade ball, Crowley and Aziraphale play at being human for a dance.It can’t last, but for tonight, they can pretend.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 86
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens





	if I wear a mask, I can fool the world (but I cannot fool my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> I started out writing a Masquerade Ball Human AU Meet Cute (don’t ask why, we all have our vices), and halfway through started laughing at the idea of Crowley trying to PRETEND they’re having a Masquerade Ball Human AU Meet Cute. And then I had to write that instead. And then it accidentally got a little sad but it’s okay because I fix it.  
> Title from the full version of “Reflection” from Mulan. I already think of Crowley and Aziraphale every time I hear Jackie Evancho sing this, so may as well. This is all very cliché and I don’t regret a thing.

_“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.” -Oscar Wilde_

By technicality, neither of them were supposed to be there. By technicality, neither of them were even supposed to be on this continent, what with having work from their respective Head Offices on opposite ends of the planet. By technicality – and only, of course, if we’re being technical – neither of them had been invited to this event at _all,_ and shouldn’t have been let in.

And yet, Aziraphale and Crowley both found themselves, by _technicality,_ attending the same _bal masqu_ _é_ in the Venetian Republic during the 16th century.

Crowley, for one, had been spending his evening drifting between the different groups of attendees, mingling and spreading false gossip just to see how people would react. No one was supposed to know each other, under the masks, which made it all the easier to point out various royals and upperclassmen sneaking off together, and no one could dispute him, even though he genuinely didn’t have a clue what the royals even looked like. He’d been busy in the Mediterranean, alright? And there were too many bloody monarchs to keep track of.

As the evening continued and the alcohol flowed, Crowley couldn’t help but observe the covert romances between strangers, the ridiculous seductions and flirts, the games of love that only the upper class could play so recklessly. With the masks in the way, it was an excuse, plausible deniability, to act in ways no one would without them – flirting shamelessly and flirting back. He would be lying (which he was supposed to do, as a demon) if he said he hadn’t been thinking of Aziraphale all night, imagining them together, like the other party guests were.

He was just getting bored enough to start sparking arguments between married couples when he spotted the familiar bough of fluffy white hair toward an edge of the large, extravagantly golden ballroom. His face split into a grin as he cut through the crowd of dresses and draperies, grinning even wider when he got a proper look.

Aziraphale, never one to do things by halves, put the rest of the attendees to shame, adorned in a white waistcoat with large, puffed mutton sleeves of brocade, and draped with a pleated blue _giornea,_ belted at the waist and falling to his knees. Perfectly tailored hose formed the shape of his calves – a place Crowley’s eyes certainly didn’t linger, don’t be silly – and, of course, a mask sat upon his face, a delicate _columbina_ in gold and blue, swirling with embroidery and embossed with tiny gems.

Crowley approached, consciously turning his smile into something approximating a smirk. Wouldn’t do to seem too happy to see the angel – his reputation would be in shambles. He had taken on the local style of the crimped bob, himself, and dressed similarly – if less decadently – in all black. His own _pulcinella_ mask had a long, hooked beak in tarnished ebony.

Aziraphale, who spotted him when he neared, looked startled. “Oh, good evening, Crowley. I didn’t know you were in Europe.”

While Crowley was admittedly a touch tipsy, his following actions had little to do with the alcohol buzzing through his veins. It had much more to do with Crowley’s considerable and uncontainable imagination, which had been inventing scenarios of them meeting just so, long before the angel ever appeared.

 _What if we had been human?_ he wondered to himself. He’d thought it before – many times. _If we were human, if we had Free Will, how could things be different?_ And now, faced with the love of his life, a masquerade ball, and an opportunity, Crowley eagerly and metaphorically embraced all three.

Crowley bowed with a flourish, though he wasn’t sure if that was the local custom. It felt right. “Good evening, stranger.”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “Crowley, what are you on about? You know exactly who I am.”

The demon grinned. “I have no idea what you mean. This is obviously the first time we’ve met.”

“I…” The angel blinked a few times. “I don’t know what sort of wiles you’re up to, but it’s not safe to talk so openly here–“

Crowley leaned in close, closer than he’d normally allow himself. His voice dropped low, so only the angel could hear him. “It’s a masquerade ball, angel. No one is looking, not tonight. The Spanish are busy; the war just ended. No one will notice us, I swear it.”

Crowley knew Aziraphale could see his snake eyes through the mask. Imploring. _What if we were human?_ Crowley wondered. _What would you do?_

Aziraphale stepped away, glancing around. Not a soul looked at them, Crowley knew. “Y-You’re being ridiculous,” he said. “The very notion is–“

 _Fun? Exciting?_ “I’m not ridiculous.” Crowley leaned away, feeling himself settle into his character. Not a new one, but a very, very old one. The Tempter. “I’m simply wondering why the most beautiful person at the ball is standing off to the side, all by himself.”

The mask did nothing at all to hide the violent red blush, and Aziraphale gaped at him, fingers tugging at his sleeves. “Oh, Crowley, do stop this foolishness.”

“Is it foolish to notice that no one in this room is even half as gorgeous as you are?”

“I…I…There’s no need to tease.” Aziraphale sniffed and pursed his lips. “Besides, according to your… _scenario,_ you’ve never met me, and you can’t even see me under the mask! Ha!” He nodded triumphantly, as though he’d found the gap in Crowley’s scheme that would bring it all tumbling down around him.

Crowley’s gaze was soft, his words coming out almost _too_ honest. “I can see enough.”

“...Oh, you’re a terror.” Aziraphale glared at him.

“Oh, I am terrible at that. Horrendous in fact. But, for you, dear angel, I promise to be on my best behavior.”

Aziraphale seemed to be settling into the game, or just resigning himself to the fact that Crowley wasn’t going to quit. “Somehow, I doubt that very much, ‘stranger.’ With every fiber of my being, in fact.”

“Am I truly so transparent?”

“Absolutely and utterly.”

“Then I’m sure you know what I’m about to ask?”

A sigh. “I do.”

Crowley grinned, heart thumping violently in his chest. He held out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

_If we were human, would you accept me like this?_

Aziraphale found his eyes. There were a million stories there, a million things never said, a million things they never could. They both knew they couldn’t have this, not forever. Not very long, at all.

But it was okay to pretend, right? Just for one night? _Will you pretend with me, angel?_

Aziraphale’s warm hand took his, and Crowley led them out to the dance floor.

It was the time of evening when most every attendee was terribly drunk, and a third were missing, on the hunt for an unoccupied cupboard or closet to suit clandestine activities. As such, the musicians were playing something loud and jaunty for the drunken party guests to flail to. He considered a little _suggestion_ to play something more romantic, but his confidence was fleeing him; he didn’t want to scare Aziraphale away by being _too much._

Just as Crowley opened his mouth to make a joke of some sort, to release the tension, a new strain of music began. A soft, dreadfully romantic one. Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, who stared pointedly away from both him and their joined hands.

 _Ah,_ Crowley thought. He smiled broadly and tugged them into position.

Dances at such events were usually complex, with intricate steps to remember and swathes of people involved. They could be processionals, slow and regal, or more upbeat, lively dances like the _galliard_. Crowley had even participated in both types earlier that very night. However, it wasn’t necessarily common practice for two individuals to dance by themselves, apart from the group. Ignoring Germany, it wouldn’t become common practice for some time.

But, hey. Trends must get started somehow. And no one at this ball was in any state to question it.

Though they had some false starts, the universe worked in their favor that night. Their minds were both filled with images of a romantic dance between lovers, never a step out of place, and their individual dancing abilities quickly scurried to accommodate this expectation with mild annoyance. Within moments, they were carefully swaying, a cautious distance between their bodies, and Crowley couldn’t see the room around him at all.

Why look at all this golden decadence when he could look at Aziraphale?

“You dance quite well,” Aziraphale said as they turned as one. “You must dance with random persons at these balls all the time.”

“Sometimes,” Crowley conceded. He’d had his fair share of temptation work at balls, though he never joined them in hunting for cupboards. “But none so enchanting as you.”

Aziraphale looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. “I’m sure you say that to everyone.”

“Even if I did, it wouldn’t change its truth now.”

“Sly tempter,” he murmured fondly, and Crowley’s heart did a backflip.

The piece came to a slow close, and they paused, hands clasped, shoulders and waists held. Crowley’s extravagant heels made him taller than Aziraphale by an extra five or six centimeters, and he gazed down past the long nose of his mask as they breathed, waiting for the next piece.

“I do quite like your eyes, stranger,” Aziraphale murmured.

The music picked back up, and they continued moving again, Crowley’s chest throbbing with feelings. He felt suddenly like he’d missed something. “You don’t find them…off-putting? Most, er, say they look like the eyes of a demon.”

Aziraphale smiled. _Devastating._ “Perhaps, but they’re yours,” he replied, as though that explained everything. It didn’t, not at all.

“I’m no one special.”

“I quite disagree.”

“Oh?”

“I think you’re stunning, stranger.”

Crowley swallowed. He had no idea how they’d gotten here. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one temping Aziraphale? The game had gotten switched somewhere along the line, and he had the distinct sensation that the snake had become the prey of the hawk. He smirked, trying to regain his equilibrium. “Do you realize how jealous everyone here is of me tonight?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I’m the one who’s dancing with you.”

Aziraphale blushed again and Crowley silently congratulated himself. Yes, this was closer to their usual dance – metaphorically _and_ literally, now. He flustered the angel, not the other way around. He was a demon. No one made _him_ flustered.

“Oh, stranger,” Aziraphale said, and _oh bloody hell_ his eyes were gleaming with mischief. “You must be mistaken. The envy I’m sparking when I touch you is truly sinful.”

“A-And here I was, thinking you were practically an angel,” Crowley said, strangled. He wasn’t going to survive this. _What had he started._

“Oh, I am,” Aziraphale said softly, “but so are you.”

Crowley made a choking noise and time ground to a halt around them, the cut-off note echoing in his ears. Dancers paused, musicians froze, candles stopped their flicker as the millisecond stretched.

“Oh, was that too much?” Aziraphale stepped back, releasing him, expression sliding instantly from flirtatious to regret. “I’m terribly sorry, Crowley, I just got caught up in–“

“Aziraphale.” Crowley ripped off his mask and dropped it, catching Aziraphale’s face in his hands. “I can’t hold this very long. Can I kiss you?”

Aziraphale’s mouth hung open, and for three terrifying heartbeats, he didn’t react at all. They didn’t do this. It’s not like they weren’t aware of their feelings, both for and from the other, but they didn’t acknowledge it. Didn’t talk about it. It wasn’t safe, and it wasn’t meant for them. It could never, ever be theirs.

Pretending they could was tearing Crowley’s heart in half.

Slowly, carefully, as though it may disrupt the balance of the very world, Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley bent over to slot their lips together.

Cognitive function was overrated, Crowley’s brain seemed to decide as their mouths met. Thoughts. Who needed ‘em? _Honestly,_ his braincells said, _we’re just gonna head out._

It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed. Cultures across the world, in the past and present, used kisses as a mere greeting, as a goodbye. To cheeks, to hands, to lips. But never had they touched like this, completely consuming and romantic, saying all the things they couldn’t, tucked away in a moment that didn’t even exist.

They drew away, eyes closed. It was so much.

Aziraphale spoke first. “Your mask.”

Crowley opened his eyes to see Aziraphale holding it out to him, face pink. He looked happy, but also a little bit sad. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Crowley gathered his marbles from where they had scattered themselves across the floor and took the mask. He donned it with the sensation that he wouldn’t really be taking it off for a long time, not even when he left this ball. Maybe he’d never take it off again.

With a blink, time resumed. The foot of space between them spoke of eons, and they didn’t touch. Aziraphale took a small step back, increasing it.

“I hope we’ll meet again, stranger,” Aziraphale whispered with a small, painful smile, and he walked away.

The evening had been jovial. In a time that wasn’t time, they kissed. It was romantic, soppy, intimate, the stuff his dreams were made of. The music continued. And yet, Crowley could feel nothing but a hollowness in his stomach.

_If you had been human, you would still haunt me._

Five Centuries Later

Soho

Two nights after dinner at the Ritz, Crowley sprawled across the bookshop sofa and fiddled with his phone. Focused intently on the e-book he would never admit to reading, he didn’t notice Aziraphale, who had been in his armchair, stand up and cross the room to the gramophone.

Only when a faint, familiar, Italian-sounding tune began playing did he look up from the device. Aziraphale stood by the slowly spinning record, biting his lip as the music played, and all at once, Crowley's chest twisted when he understood what he heard.

“Missing the masquerades, angel?” he asked, trying for teasing, though it came out breathless. “You always did love dressing up for those.”

Aziraphale ignored this, gazing steadfast at his clasped hands. “I…I’ve thought of that night often, you know.”

“O-Oh?”

“Yes.”

“I…me too.”

“I was so afraid,” he whispered, looking ashamed. “And then I forgot to be, for just a moment. The way you looked at me, under those lights, I just…”

“I put you in danger by doing that.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I’ve never regretted it. Not once.”

Crowley unfolded himself from his seat, crossing the room to face his angel and everything that still lay between them. They were close in height, neither of them in heels this time, almost eye-level. Equal. “I sometimes wondered,” he said slowly, “What we would be if we had been human.”

“I don’t know. There are too many factors to consider to even imagine it.”

“But I did. _We_ did. And you were so beautiful.” He shook his head. “You _are_ beautiful. But…”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows twisted. “But?”

Crowley smiled. “I like you better without the mask.”

With a breath that spoke of relief, Aziraphale smiled back. “And I, you, stranger. It makes it so much easier to, well…” This time, it was Aziraphale whose hands caught Crowley’s red face, pulling him closer. “May I…?”

Crowley didn’t hesitate to nod, and Aziraphale leaned forward until he caught Crowley’s lips with his own.

They kissed, for the first time in centuries, and the second in a way that counted in this way, to them. Time did not draw to a stop, because it didn’t have to. It instead flowed around their bodies and hearts, accommodating, and Crowley thought he might burst into bits. He wasn’t pretending, neither of them were, and neither of them were hiding. They were alone in the backroom of a bookshop, but they could have stood in the middle of Leicester Square and it wouldn’t make a difference.

When they broke the kiss, Crowley felt lightheaded, unsure if the cause was the emotions or the lack of breathing. Technically, neither should have that effect on a demon, but _technically_ had never been terribly relevant to them.

“I feel like I should take you to a masquerade properly, angel,” Crowley said, close enough for their breaths to mingle. His arms were wrapped around the angel’s waist, holding him close. “Kiss you in front of everybody. Make ‘em all watch.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but Crowley could feel the chuckle in his stomach from where their bodies were pressed together. He still held Crowley’s face in his hands, like he was something precious, cherished. “No more masks, I think.”

“No more masks. Done with those,” Crowley agreed with a nod. With a sly look, he added, “Now the _kissing_ , on the other hand…”

He didn’t get to say much more after that, not until Aziraphale broke their third kiss awhile later to complain that he was hungry. They ordered in. Italian seemed apt.

**Author's Note:**

> MASK SYMBOLISM.  
> [Link to some info on Venetian masks.](https://www.simplymasquerade.co.uk/page_2931797.html)  
> (I lowkey completely forgot about the whole angels-don’t-dance-except-when-Az-learned-the-gavotte thing until I went to post this, so just…ignore that.)  
> Ohhh, I could have made this SO much angstier, and it was SO tempting, but I can’t do that. Not to you, to them, to me. I hope you enjoyed the fluff, instead. :)


End file.
